


parlor tricks

by mairesmagicshop



Series: The Raven and the Dove [3]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hand Jobs, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 01:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15741354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mairesmagicshop/pseuds/mairesmagicshop
Summary: Julian and Maire find their way into the Bubble Room... and can't keep their hands off each other.





	parlor tricks

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by @4biddenleeches on tumblr - thanks for the inspiration!

“Look at us, Maire, partners in crime!” Julian exclaims, taking my hands in his. “That was just perfect.”

We’d just come from the card game room, where we’d admittedly cheated in order to win a piece of gossip. I couldn’t deny the excitement I’d felt when he’d surreptitiously slipped the winning card into my hand – it felt so natural, as if we were extensions of each other, a single being, completely in sync. It shamed me even to acknowledge it, but I’d felt strangely aroused at how suave he’d been, how perfectly cool and casual as he deceived the rest of the table. I relished the feeling of the secret shared between us, the electricity in his touch as he palmed the card over to me.

I return an exuberant smile. “It was amazing, seeing you in your element like that.” I lean in closer, mindful of our masks, one hand going ‘round to the back of his neck. “Watching you was rather… stimulating, if you know what I mean,” I purr, and nibble his earlobe for good measure.

He laughs, a warm hum in his throat. “Why, Miss Riordeine, I’m sure I could hardly guess…” He shifts his weight against me, his hand at my hip, pushing me backward until I meet the wall. He draws back and gazes up and down the hallway before pinning me there in earnest, his visible eye intent on mine. “Why don’t you tell me?” I feel his fingers teasing at the edges of my costume, point by point planning a trek southward. “I take it my performance earlier… was not enough for you?” He dips his head, carefully traces a line up my neck with his tongue. “How ever can I make it up to you…”

I think back to the changing room before the Masquerade, my hands in his hair as he knelt before me, in submission at my feet. I had struggled to keep quiet as he brought me over the brink not once, but twice. He’s right – it wasn’t enough. He makes me feel insatiable and wild, willing to take risks I’d never before considered. My breath feels shallow, my eyes closing as Julian sucks gently against my neck. But I feel too exposed here; someone could wander into the hallway any minute – this was the Masquerade, after all, and the palace was full to bursting. And as much as it pains me that we can’t give ourselves over completely to the evening’s festivities, we really need to keep checking rooms.

“Ilya – wait… we should probably check another room, right?”

He sighs and sags against me, clicking his tongue. “Right, as usual,” he murmurs as he pulls back. “I just can’t resist you.” He adjusts my mask for me, his expression soft and dreamy, and I do the same for him, my fingers grazing his cheek.

“I do hope you know by now the feeling is mutual. Now - ” I say, looking around. “Where to?” At that very moment, a shriek of laughter shatters the calm of the hallway and our eyes both go wide. Julian’s mouth turns up in an impish smile.

“Shall we?”

I grin as we link hands and take off in the direction of the growing din.

-

As we turn the corner, we’re surprised by a long line leading into one of the rooms. The poor Chamberlain looks frazzled.

“Please!” they shout. “Please form a single file queue to the bubble room! No pushing please!”

Julian squeezes my hand and gives me a gentle tug. I look over at him, arching my brows and biting my lip, awaiting his reaction. For his part, Julian looks giddy as a child. “I knew they’d have to bring the bubble room back!” he says triumphantly, color spilling into his cheeks. “Would you like to go in, Maire? I’d just love to experience this with you.”

“You couldn’t keep me out of there, darling – but hmmm…” I look at the growing length of the line. This won’t do – we have too much to do to wait. I wink at Julian and approach the Chamberlain. They know, of course, who we are and why we’re there, and in the blink of an eye we’re escorted to the front of the line. (Special circumstances call for the bending of the rules sometimes, I remind myself perhaps more guiltily than I should [and my god, I’m taking on more than a few of Ilya’s habits, aren’t I?] though I vow not to make a habit of it.)

The scene inside is something out of a dream: a forest of iridescent bubbles floating up to the high ceiling, disappearing into a purple mist, muted merriment vibrating the entire room. The attendant gestures for us to move onto the grate, where the bubble will form around us. I clasp Julian’s hand tight and we step forward together.

“Here we go!” he yells as I feel the filmy magic stitching up around us, and the draft propels us straight up. My stomach drops as we’re thrown together, masks now askew, the floor growing further and further away, and we’re floating, flying, laughing and squealing (well, I am, anyway). Julian takes off his mask and adjusts himself as best he can in the tight space, folding his long legs up. His arm comes behind me to hold me close, leaning over me slightly, and he takes off my mask with his other hand.

I can’t begin to name the emotion on his face as we look at one another, ensconced so tightly in our makeshift cocoon, savoring this rare moment alone. He’s dazzled, a man in love, if I’m any reliable judge at all; he looks as though he would devour me or stare at me forever, and my chest feels the familiar warmth he’s unlocked there. The places inside my heart reserved for him widen and brighten with each passing second.

“This is the first time I’ve been in the bubble room with someone else,” he says, his wild hair falling boyishly across his face.

“And?” I say, smiling coyly. “What’s the verdict?”

He captures my lips in a firm, hot kiss that sends a tremor down my spine.

“I don’t quite have enough evidence to give an opinion yet, my dear.” He gives me his signature grin, his eyebrow drawn up rakishly, full of daring innuendo. He knows full well I will take the bait he’s dangling before me; it’s all I’ve done since we’ve met [no one could be more surprised at that than me], and I’ll certainly not shy away now. But just as precaution, I use my magic to inflate a second bubble around us, purplish, a bit thicker, and pearlescently opaque, so as we ascend, we’ll just fade from everyone else’s view. And fade we do, into the undulating plumes at the heights of the room.

Raising my chin, I guide my lips to his. We are hungry, always so very hungry for each other, and we begin to move together, this intimate dance now well-known to us both; bodies pushing against each other, hands scrabbling for somewhere to caress, to squeeze; lips parting as our tongues speak a language only he and I can understand.

I slide my fingers under the waistband of Julian’s pants.

“Then allow me to make my case,” I say suggestively, my hand slipping lower, my lips finding their way to his again. I unfasten the fine trousers to give me more room, and he groans against my mouth as I traverse his fevered skin, toying with the trail of fine hair that paves the way of my pilgrimage. I’m rewarded almost immediately as he thrusts toward me, and I can feel that he’s hard and wanting. I’d ordinarily tease him, deny him until he was incoherent with need, but we don’t have that kind of time. And I’ve felt fairly incoherent in his presence all day.

I welcome him into my hand, my fingers extending and then constricting around him, setting a leisurely pace to start. “Keep still,” I admonish him and his wayward hips. “You don’t want to bump us all over the place, do you?”

“Maybe I do,” he pants, cheeks attractively flushed. “But I can think of something even more fun.” He strokes down my side, a chill passing through me as his slender fingers cross over my breast, down to my waist, to my hip, and lower still. He cocks his head, admiring the tiny gasps I can’t possibly keep contained, the friction between his touch and the silky, thin fabric of my costume igniting my very bones. “Shall I keep going?” he asks. “Then we’ll see what’s really bumping in the bubble room tonight.”

I bite my lip, nodding. It doesn’t feel the right time, not yet, but I love him, I love him – my very blood seems to sing it with each beat of my heart - and as he gathers my slinky skirt, bringing my knee up with it, I feel like I’ll shatter with happiness as we love with our hands. We seem to sense the urgency both within and of our circumstances: we don’t have much time, but what we do have we give over ecstatically. I watch him, loving him every time his handsome mouth opens, thrilled at the noises he makes; and I answer him with my own. Even as our mouths meet for kiss after kiss we cannot tear our eyes from each other – closing them even a second feels like a missed opportunity; a moment lost. And, even without knowing the truth about my past, I knew I’d had far too many of those.

And so, our foreheads pressed together, we drive each other - slippery and tensing and pulsing - over the edge. I shudder into him, crying out as his smooth fingers coax out every last sensation, and he follows me close behind, throwing his head back, closing his eyes at last as he spills hot into my palm. We kiss tenderly, sweetly, the ghost of our need ever haunting us at the lips, and he peers down, looking sheepish and apologetic.

“Oh dear, I didn’t stain your dress, did I? I don’t know how I’d live with myself if I compromised your first remembered Masquerade by defiling your costume!”

I shake my head smugly, flexing my magic into my fist. When I open it, silvery sand slides out from my palm. He looks at me with disbelief and absolute awe.

“Simple parlor tricks,” I shrug.

He erupts into shocked hilarity, booming and deep – I think his eye actually might be watering. “What kind of antics have you been up to in people’s parlors?” And I laugh too, wiping an errant tear from his face.

“Never you mind that,” I say with a furtive smile. “And in any case, you can “defile” me whenever you like.”

“Ohohohoho Maire, I could just die! The wonderful things you say to me.” He kisses me quickly. “I suppose we should compose ourselves. It seems like we’re headed back down.”

“Seems like the prudent thing to do, doesn’t it?” I arrange my skirts and pick up my mask.

“Look at me, the voice of reason,” he says grandly as he refastens his pants. “You must be… rubbing off on me.” Incorrigible.

“Yes, well – there’s more where that came from,” I retort, waggling my eyebrows at him. Turnabout is fair play, after all. I release my glamour on the bubble and we drift lower until we meet the floor beneath us, stepping out.

“That really was incredible, Maire – a first in more ways than one.” He offers me his arm with a grin, and escorts me to the door.

“I’m happy to be your first time for anything,” I say, my voice low, conspiratorial.

His eyes go impossibly wide, a spectrum of emotions passing across his face like storm clouds racing across the sky – consternation, amazement, but something darker too. Something like pain.

“What is it?” I ask. At that moment we hear a shout – “Ghost! Someone’s seen a ghost in the circus room!” We freeze, looking out in the direction of the outburst.

“I’ll tell you everything later – I promise,” he assures me, his eye meeting mine. “Now come on – let’s see if we can get our hands on a ghost… baaaaaaaaa!” he jokes, a mocking impression of the spectral goat we’re hunting this evening. Rolling my eyes, I can’t help but laugh and hustle out with him, ready for wherever the rest of this night takes us.


End file.
